


Codename: Frosty

by MykEsprit



Series: Dramione Delectables [23]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, F/M, Fluff, Frosty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 15:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: Draco and Hermione chase down a mythical monster and get stuck in the Arctic tundra.





	Codename: Frosty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SD Yuletide Magic Fest. Thanks to the admins for their hard work!
> 
> Prompt: On an auror mission in the freezing tundra, Hermione and Draco get trapped. What will happen when these two are alone!?

 

 

Naturally, it was her fault. Her brown eyes flashed, colder than the punishing winds, telling him that she placed the blame entirely on his shoulders. That...and she more or less yelled the sentiment as she charged towards him.

Draco held his arms at his sides, fighting the urge to throw his hands up in surrender. Hermione Granger—for all her diminutive stature, dark-fringed eyes that took up nearly half her face, and that annoyingly adorable button nose—was a force of nature. Rather than face her wrath, he would sooner brave the nighttime temperatures of the Arctic tundra...which, from the looks of it, was already in the cards for him, anyway. 

Her fault.

Naturally.

“You,” she panted, clutching her sides as she slowed to a halt. “You—you— _ arse. _ ” Hermione propped her hands on her thighs, bending over as she gulped down lungfuls of air. The sprint across the barren terrain painted her cheeks a bright red.

Draco shifted his weight on his back leg and adopted what he hoped to be a casual stance. 

“We almost had the bastard!” Hermione said breathlessly. “Do you know how long that monster’s been terrorizing Europe?” She stretched out to her full height—the top of her curly hair coming up to his chin—and pressed a forefinger deep into his shoulder. “And you let him get away with the bloody broomstick! Our  _ only _ broomstick!”

Irritation flickered through him. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you had flown on your own like an adult.  _ Really _ , Granger, what kind of Auror can’t fly a broomstick? If fucking  _ first years _ can do it—”

“This. Is. Your. Fault.” With each word, her finger dug further into his flesh despite the thick cloak. He fought to keep the wince off his face. “You know that—that  _ thing _ has a broomstick obsession,” Hermione sneered. “Which is why we couldn’t risk having multiple broomsticks around. I knew he would make a play to snatch one up. Had I  _ known _ that you were going to drop the ball…” She sighed. “And now we’ve lost him. He could be anywhere by now, luring innocent children from their homes and villages—”

Draco tilted his face down, the tip of his nose grazing hers. She huffed but refused to back down. 

“The nearest village is half a day’s ride on a broom—where the rest of our men are. So those kids are going to be fine. And what he took was a  _ Ministry _ broom,” he said with a bite of condescension. “What is standard on all Ministry brooms?” Draco twitched an eyebrow.

Hermione growled. “Tracking spells,” she pushed through her teeth.

“Right.” He leaned back and pulled his lips into a lazy smirk. “So don’t worry about that freakshow. We’ll know wherever he thumpity-thump-thumps. I’m more concerned about us.”

Her eyes rolled heavenward. “Of course you are.” She whipped her wand out and turned her back to him. In the next instant, her otter Patronus floated before her. “Target escaped on a Ministry broom. Send alpha team to track and retrieve him. Beta team stays at the base to protect the villagers. And, erm,”—embarrassment colored her tone—”send someone to come get us. We’re stuck out on the tundra, and it’s too far to Apparate safely.”

With an enthusiastic twirl, the Patronus flew south. Its white light winked on the horizon, a bright point in the darkening sky.

“You know,” Draco drawled, “it’s going to be a while until someone gets here. Perhaps not until morning.” He stared at her back as she surveyed their surroundings, making note of the sparse vegetation.

“Not much to work with,” she muttered. “I don’t know if there’s enough to Transfigure into a tent, much less two cots and a campfire.”

“I’m sure we can think of something to keep us warm for the night.” His arms stayed folded over his chest, but his voice carried the note of intimacy. Hermione’s shoulders tensed; she turned around slowly. She eyed him with wariness—but the quirk of her lips held a touch of mischief. She took a long step towards him, so close that her citrus fragrance flavored the sharp, cold air. “Yes. I’m sure we can,” she replied slowly. 

Pleasantly surprised by how easy that was—it usually took a lot more convincing on his end— Draco unfurled his arms and reached out, intending to slide his arms around her.

She stepped around the embrace and breezed past him, her dainty shoulder shoving him sideways. “Make yourself useful and find us some firewood.”

Draco stumbled, struggling to find his footing—a not-uncommon feeling whenever the frustrating witch was concerned.

* * *

 

They scavenged enough materials to make one small fire and Transfigure two sleeping rolls. Draco put a stasis charm on the fire to keep it from dying or being blown out by gusts of wind. The sleeping rolls were hopeless; despite their heating charms, the cold seeped in through the seams.

Draco laid on his back, his hands pillowing the back of his head. “You know—“

“No.”

He tsked. “What are you afraid of? Scared you won’t be able to resist this gorgeous, masculine specimen once it’s pressed up against you?” He turned his head and gave her a taunting smirk. “Like last time?”

Hermione glared at him from under her hood. “Moscow was a bad judgment call.”

His eyebrow arched. “And New York?”

“A drunken mistake,” she clipped.

“Paris?”

“Stress release.”

“Madrid?” he pushed.

A brief struggle came over her features; a salacious grin then tugged on her lips. “A belated birthday present to myself.”

He rolled to his side, propping his head up on a fist. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re just using my body for your own pleasure and convenience.”

“You do know better.” Her eyes hardened. “And so do I. Which is why we need to stop...doing it.”

He laughed, but the sound was hollow in his ears. “Come on, Granger. It’s just the two of us here. No need to play coy. I know how dirty that mouth can be,”—he glanced at her lips, as dark as cherries under the star-studded sky—“under the right circumstances.”

A growl rumbled in her throat. “ _ Fucking _ ,” she spat. “We need to stop fucking.”

He clamped down on the anger that flared in his chest. “Why? Last time I checked, we are two consenting adults—“

“Who are partners.” Her voice trembled; he couldn’t decide if that was due to the topic at hand or the still-dropping temperatures. “Auror partners. And good ones.”

“The best,” he said with no hint of humility.

“Exactly. So why mess with it?” she said, sharp and aloof. A careful mask slid over her face.

He opened his mouth—about to reply with a casual, “For fun?” But the words didn’t feel honest, and the guarded way she stared at him, disbelieving...it yanked the truth from somewhere in his chest. From the corner of his heart where it had been hiding patiently. So, he let go of all pretenses—the teasing, the blunt flirting, the excuse that it was just great sex—and he whispered, “Because it’s worth it.” 

Hermione stared, unblinking. Assessing his face, so he was careful to keep his expression open and genuine. His heart raced at such intense scrutiny. It was a dozen heartbeats before she asked, “Even though it’s against the rules?” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, as though the words had escaped unbidden.

With a quiet sigh, he placed a thumb on her chin and gently pulled down until she released her lip. “Yes,” he said, staring at the dampened flesh.

“And what if one of us gets hurt? What if we end up hating each other and can’t work together anymore?” she asked. He traced a thumb along her jaw; over her cheekbone. Hermione laid a hand over his, pressing his palm against her cheek. “Malfoy.” She pinned him down with a heavy stare. “I just—if this blows up in our faces—I don’t know if I can—“

“Hermione.” He only said her given name in the throes of passion. Even now, his tongue caressed the syllables, and she stilled at the sound of it. 

His mind scrambled for the right thing to say. The words to convey that he couldn’t make any promises that neither of them will get hurt—not with her stubborn streak and his bullheaded personality. Not with the pressures of their friends and family, and the nature of their work. Even with all that shite, he was willing to try—because, by Merlin, it was worth it. 

She was worth it.

Hermione’s eyes were wary. He knew then that words wouldn’t be enough. Slowly, he crossed the small space between them and kissed her.

Her warm lips parted on contact. He captured her plump bottom lip between his teeth and sucked, eliciting a moan. 

Encouraged by the sound, Draco shifted over her, the majority of his weight on his elbows. His fingers entangled in her hair. He wrapped her curls tightly in his hand, tugging at the roots with firm traction just the way she liked it. He was rewarded with a sharp gasp and the feel of her legs wrapping around his hips.

Every time he touched her like this, the world fell away. Quickly, he forgot that they were in the middle of a mission in the Arctic tundra, consumed as he was with the way she tasted on his tongue; the minute movements of her body under his.

When the snowball hit his flank, at such velocity that his kidney shivered at the impact, he collapsed on Hermione in shock.

A rumbling laugh, like the groan of an earthquake, came from overhead. “Catch me if you can,”

Draco jumped up, his clothes rumpled. Hermione followed suit, her hair more disheveled than usual. Both of them had their wands gripped and pointed at the monster they’d been chasing earlier, the creature that had eluded wizards and Muggles alike for centuries.

“You’re back,” said Draco, cool and unaffected despite the tension running through his body. “Guess they forgot to roll a brain in that frozen head.”

The monster’s dark eyes flashed; he glared at them over a pointed, orange nose. “Your people cut me off from the children of the village,” he grated. “There were no little ones to hold in my thrall, to follow me out. No tender little flesh for my Yuletide feast.” On the stolen broom, he circled their heads. He jumped off, landing with a force that shook the ground under their feet. The monster pulled himself up to a menacing height, glaring at them under the brim of his old silk hat. “Since I can’t feed on them, then  _ you _ can take their place.”

The monster lunged for Hermione. In the instant before he made contact, her eyes slid over to Draco. The firmness of her gaze, the hard angle of her eyebrows—and Draco knew what she was going to do. What she wanted  _ him _ to do.

Hermione threw her arms over her face and let herself get tackled to the ground. Spindly fingers grasped her wrists, the knobby branches growing as they wrapped tighter and tighter.

Draco climbed over the monster’s slick, white body. It tried to buck him off, but Draco dug his fingers into his hard-packed shoulders.

“Hurry!” Hermione screamed.

With a grunt, Draco reached for the top of the monster’s head and yanked on the silk hat. Ice had grown around the brim, securing it in place. He placed a foot on the back of the monster’s head and threw his weight back. The hat flew off the monster’s head, and Draco tumbled down the length of his body.

Hermione’s muffled yelp pulled Draco back on his feet. Without the old silk hat—a Dark Artifact from the vault of Salazar Slytherin—life and magic left the aggressive creature. It fell apart, burying Hermione in a pile of snow and branches. 

Breathless, Draco stumbled to where she struggled and pulled her out. She spat dirty snow and pebbles out of her mouth, swatting away the carrot that poked her in the eye.

“Urgh! Never going to get the taste of  _ that _ out of my mouth,” she grumbled. Hermione eyed the silk hat in Draco’s grasp. “Secure that, will you? I’d hate to chase down anything else that might bring to life.”

With a few flicks of his wand, the hat was encased in a shield of magic, shrunk down and tucked away in the pocket of his robe. Then he laid back down, joining Hermione, who was still catching her breath.

For a while, they stayed silent, gazing at the stars as the adrenaline wore off. The heap of snow lay lifeless beside them. Draco gave it a swift kick for good measure. As the boulder of snow crumbled, his foot nudged something hard.

“Ah.” He reached over and grabbed the broomstick, which had clattered to the ground during their brief scuffle. “At least we got this back.”

Hermione snorted. “No more waiting for the cavalry, I suppose.”

Draco held the broomstick between his hands, remembering what he and Hermione had been doing before they were so rudely interrupted. “Hmm. No, no more waiting.” The broom glowed in his grasp. 

She glanced at him, startled. “What did you do?”

He couldn’t contain the mischief on his face. “Took the tracking spell off.” Draco rolled to his feet, yanking her up with him. Too fast—and she stumbled. His arm went around her waist, steadying her against him. “Well? Come with me?”

Surprise and amusement lit up Hermione’s face. “Oh? And where will we go?”

“Over the hills and snow.” Draco winked. He straddled the broomstick and held his hand out to her.

“And what happens when the team comes here and finds this mess without us to explain what happened?” Her argument was weakened by her playful tone. She situated herself behind him, arms curled around his waist and face burying into his back.

Draco pointed his wand in front of him and summoned his Patronus. “Codename: Frosty has been eliminated.” When the small dragon flew away, he tilted his head to the side. “Any other concerns?” 

Hermione smiled against his shoulder blade. “None.” 

With one hand on the broomstick and the other on her hands clasped over his abdomen, Draco kicked off the ground. He wasn’t sure where he was leading them—it was miles of barren tundra in all directions—but it didn’t matter. Whenever he was with her like this, he found that he cared very little about anything else.

Her fault. Naturally.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments/Kudos are appreciated.


End file.
